While I generally like to keep the writing I do on my blog and the writing I do elsewhere separate, I have been wanting to feature more travel-related food writing on A Sweet Spoonful so I’m carrying this one over. I wrote this piece for Bay Area Bites this week. If you live in the Bay Area or ever plan to visit, Boonville is still a bit off-the-beaten track and absolutely worth checking out.
I’d driven through Boonville with my Dad and my sisters once, all too briefly en route to Mendocino. We stopped at the Boonville General Store for a sandwich and sat outside admiring the coolness of the little stretch of road and the delightfully slow pace of life. All along Hwy 128 there were orchards, farm stands, hidden hiking trails, and–of course–vineyards. I vowed to come back and do some exploring.
It did take me a good three years, but I returned last Friday for a one-day getaway with a dear friend, good wine, and great food. I’d actually wanted to make a weekend of it, stay at the Boonville Hotel and wile away a few days–but reality precludes such leisure at the moment, so we set out early and packed in as much as we could. A two hour (ish) drive, a stop at Flying Goat Coffee in Santa Rosa for a little extra fuel, and we found ourselves in Anderson Valley (115 miles N of San Francisco on Hwy 128) right around lunchtime on a quiet, sunny fall day. Not only were we delighted by what we found, we both vowed to come back soon–and to stay just a bit longer.
The Boonville General Store
Lunch at the Boonville General Store
Right across from the Boonville Hotel sits this friendly, bustling café. Don’t let the name fool you. While they do have great provisions for picnics or treats to take home, it’s more a spot for creative, organic meals than it is a place to pick up a gallon of milk. They have cheeses, olives, amazing baked goods, jams, and pestos to grab-and-go for the road. But the idea is to take some time and eat there, either at one of the rustic indoor tables or on the breezy outdoor patio. For lunch, we shared one of the house pizzas and a sandwich of the day.
The pizza had a super thin-crust (automatic ten points in my book) and was made with goat cheese, caramelized onions, local pears, bacon, and sage. The slightly sweet crisp of pear balanced with the earthy goat cheese and salty bacon made for a perfect bite. The sandwich was equally good: an organic turkey melt with Swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato, and pesto on housemade honey wheat bread. We grabbed a few pieces of homemade candy corn for the road (would love to track down their recipe for these) and lingered a bit on the patio mapping out our next move. I hear on weekends the place is a mob scene with cyclists and bikers, so if you’re looking for peace and quiet, Sunday may not be your day.
After lunch, we wandered down the road to the Farmhouse Mercantile, a local shop that stocks everything from unique kitchen tools, to vintage papers, paintings, tablecloths and local preserves. The owners are the folks behind Philo’s Apple Farm, and they certainly have a brilliant eye for unique home and garden goods. They’ve hand-selected products you don’t see in your everyday chain stores. From tiny whisks to mini Lodge cast-iron pans sized perfectly to fry a single egg (sheer brilliance), they’ve got it all. A sweet spot for gifts or to treat yourself to a post-lunch treat–precisely what I did with a new, shiny corkscrew. There’s an adjoining café so while you’re browsing, you hear the pleasant din of dishes clanking–fitting indeed.
Before continuing on down the road, we backtracked a few blocks, turned down Highway 253, and quickly discovered the Anderson Valley Brewing Company. Now you can get their bottled beers in select grocery stores, but I was eager to see where they’re made and try some of the seasonal brews. If you’re into factory tours (we’re not), they offer them daily at 11:30 am and 3:00 pm. If you like disc golf (we don’t), there’s that, too. And if you enjoy sampling numerous beers out of small glasses (we do), then you’re in for a treat. They offer a few different samplers, ranging from 5 glasses to 12 glasses. After a pretty lengthy discussion and unsolicited input from our fellow bar-mates, we decided on the 6 glass sampler with the Hop Ottin’ IPA, Boont Amber Ale, Winter Solstice, Deep Enders Dark Porter, Oatmeal Stout, and Brother David’s Triple Triple Ale. Let’s get the negatives out of the way first: Brother David’s is, in my humble opinion, some pretty raunchy beer. When I asked the gal at the bar what the story was, she didn’t have much to offer. She said it was a strong ale in the typical Belgium tradition. Hmm, I appreciate a Belgium beer just like the next girl, but this was different. It was incredibly strong, cloyingly sweet, and tasted much more like sherry than like beer.
But moving on, the Winter Solstice Seasonal Ale was absolutely delightful. It literally tastes of winter and afternoons by the fireplace, with a creamy flavor and hints of spice. And if you like IPA’s, theirs is hoppy and citrusy while the Deep Enders Porter is smooth with coffee undertones. We had a great time sampling and rating the beers and chatting with other locals and visitors. Do know that they don’t serve food here. I was envisioning more of a rustic, pub-style atmosphere for some reason, but in reality, it’s quite spare and airy. People brought pooches, families, Frisbees, and even a few picnic blankets. As I’m writing this, I’m reminded of how much I regret not getting a case of the Winter Solstice to take home, and how I need to seek it out here locally. Pronto.
Right up the road about 5 miles (northwest of Boonville on Hwy 128) is a small family farm with a lot of appeal. Upon turning down the little gravel road, you’ll notice the farm stand first. They believe in eating in season and eating as minimally processed food as possible. Their website reads:
“Food preservation is a time honored way of stretching the harvest bounty between seasons. In our not too distant past it was an absolute necessity for our rural population. Many of the techniques and recipes that used to be handed down from mother to daughter are being lost in our fast-paced times. We hope to carry on the tradition.”
The farm stand is their way of carrying on this tradition. They sell a variety of local apples and their own jams, chutneys, syrups, and vinegars. I can’t remember the last time I saw a place where you pay using the honor system. But here, you mark down what you took on a clipboard, drop your money in a slot, and call it a day. Beyond the stand itself, there are beautiful grounds open to the public where you can explore the orchards, hidden little paths, the gardens, and the pigs and roosters. If you’re lucky, the resident dog with two different colored eyes will give you the grand tour.
Besides the farm stand, you can opt to stay at farm in one of their cottages. I haven’t had the pleasure myself, but they look fantastic. Each cottage is unique in design and has its own porch and fireplace. From what I gather, if you’re the type of person who loves good room service and a nightly turndown, this isn’t your place. It’s more independent and private–just as you’d expect after a quaint and secluded visit to the farm.
Before we headed home, I wanted to stop at Toulouse Winery after a few locals suggested that they had some of the best Pinot around. Little did I know, they have way more than that. Vern and Maxine Boltz began the boutique winery post-retirement in a quest to become growers and do something creative with their days. The Boltz’s do all of the winemaking and bottling on site–they even live above the winery.
From the affable winery dog, Tess, to the warm owners who were doling out recipes and advice on the most scenic route home, you can tell they genuinely love what they do and want to share it with their visitors. The thing that often turns me away from wineries and wine tasting is all of the pretension and artifice. It makes me sweat. At Toulouse, I was calm and collected. The tasting room is in a warehouse-type space with barrels set up as causal tables, a concrete floor, and a bunch of dogs roaming around. My kind of place. They give you tasty cheese crackers, are laid back in their presentation of wine education, and there’s’ no pressure or expectation to buy–although we did. In addition to Pinot Noir, the region’s also well known for Gewürztraminer, a slightly sweet white wine. While I generally don’t love sweeter wines, Toulouse’s was subtle and had distinct floral notes that were surprisingly refreshing. Vern mentioned he’d been looking for the perfect breakfast wine for quite some time, and he’d finally nailed it. It was hard to leave Tess, Vern and Maxine behind, but it was growing dark and we had big plans of going the long way home–and returning soon.
Philo Apple Farm
18501 Greenwood Road
Philo, CA 95466
4111 Hwy 128
Boonville, CA, 95415
Hours: Thurs.-Mon. 11am-5pm (closed Tues.-Wed.)
Anderson Valley Brewing Company
17700 Hwy 253
Boonville, CA 95415-0505
Hours: Daily 11am-6pm (with the exception of Fridays, 11am-7pm)
8001 Hwy 128 (P.O. Box 152)
Philo, CA 95466
Hours: Mon.-Sun 11am-5pm
Winter Soups and Stews
If your house is anything like ours, last week wasn't our most inspired in terms of cooking. We're all suffering from the post-election blues -- the sole upside being Oliver's decision to sleep-in until 7 am for the first time in many, many months; I think he's trying to tell us that pulling the covers over our heads and hibernating for awhile is ok. It's half-convincing. For much of the week, instead of cooking, there'd been takeout pizza and canned soup before, at week's end, I decided it was time to pour a glass of wine and get back into the kitchen. I was craving something hearty and comforting that we could eat for a few days. Something that wouldn't remind me too much of Thanksgiving because, frankly, I can't quite gather the steam to start planning for that yet. It was time for a big bowl of chili.
Last weekend it was so windy – apocalyptically stormy, you could say – that our tent at the farmers market was uprooted by gusts of wind that were not messing around. I wasn't there, but apparently despite being heavily weighted down and with four customers holding onto each corner, it quite literally blew down the block. Sam, from across town, was reporting trees falling on every block and traffic lights out across the city. The next morning on a walk with Oliver around Green Lake, we were met with that same biting wind and ended up retreating for a hot chocolate instead. 'Tis the season in Seattle: we all get a little giddy and ahead of ourselves when we spot the cherry blossoms and daffodils, and I always trick myself into thinking that with the start of daylight savings time, summer must be right around the corner. In truth, before we had Oliver, we'd often travel somewhere sunny for a little mood boost around this time of year. When I moved from California, many friends – other (empathetic) 'expats' now living in the Pacific Northwest – recommended this: if you know what's good for you, they'd all say, go find the sun in February or March, and we would follow that advice faaaaaithfully. But with a baby, this just isn't where our priorities are this year, and I've found myself relying on other antics like buying out of season strawberries, drinking white wine with dinner, buying a new pair of sandals that likely will not see the light of day for the next two months, and making big, colorful pots of feel good, springy soup. Let's not kid ourselves: Cherry blossoms or not, Seattle's no Palm Springs when it gets down to bathing in the sunlight. But if you step outside onto your little porch, smell the honeysuckle blooming, take notice of the longer, lighter days and think about how you simply can't wait to see your baby crawling around on the sand when it's warm enough to stroll down to the beach, it starts looking better in its own light.
We returned home from San Francisco on New Years Eve just in time for dinner, and craving greens -- or anything other than baked goods and pizza (ohhhh San Francisco, how I love your bakeries. And citrus. And winter sunshine). Instead of driving straight home, we stopped at our co-op where I ran in for some arugula, an avocado, a bottle of Prosecco, and for the checkout guys to not-so-subtly mock the outlook of our New Years Eve: rousing party, eh? They looked to be in their mid-twenties and I figured I probably looked ancient to them, sad even. But really, there wasn't much sad (or rousing, to be fair) about our evening: putting Oliver to bed, opening up holiday cards and hanging them in the kitchen, and toasting the New Year with arugula, half a quesadilla and sparkling wine. It wasn't lavish. But it's what we both needed. (Or at least what we had to work with.) Since then, I've been more inspired to cook lots of "real" food versus all of the treats and appetizers and snacks the holidays always bring on. I made Julia Turshen's curried red lentils for the millionth time, a wintry whole grain salad with tuna and fennel, roasted potatoes, and this simple green minestrone that I've taken for lunch this week. Determined to fit as many seasonal vegetables into a bowl as humanly possible, I spooned a colorful pesto on top, as much for the reminder of warmer days to come as for the accent in the soup (and for the enjoyment later of slathering the leftover pesto on crusty bread).
One of the things I wanted to accomplish before really returning to work in earnest was to print some of our honeymoon photos and get them into an album. This project has taken far longer than expected as I find myself daydreaming about the craggy streets of Naples and meeting up with our friends Mataio and Jessica for a late night slice of pizza which we ate sitting on the sidewalk before embarking on an aimless but wonderful stroll of the city. There are photos of our balcony by the sea, most with tanned limbs, sandy sandals and a Campari and soda gracing the periphery of the frame. There was the little grocery store up the hill from our apartment on the Amalfi Coast that had the sweetest, tiniest strawberries and the best yogurt in little glass jars. Tomatoes drying in the sun, Aperol spritzes and salty peanuts before dinner at the bar across from the church square where all the neighborhood kids played kickball. As I sit here typing this now, photos remain scattered on my desk and it's likely they may not make it into the proper slots in the album anytime soon. Of course, they have me dreaming of sunshine and long days with little agenda, but they also have me thinking about the simplicity of our meals in Italy and how truly easy it was to eat well. Coincidentally, a few days ago Rachel Roddy's lusty new cookbook (can we call it lusty?!), My Kitchen in Rome, arrived at our doorstep. Clearly it was time to set the photos aside and get into the kitchen.
And suddenly, it's fall. I find that realization always comes not so much with the dates on the calendar as it does the leaves on the ground, the first crank of the heat in the morning, the dusky light on the way home from an evening run. Because we were gone on the train for nearly a week, I feel like fall happened here in Seattle during that very time. I left town eating tomatoes and corn and returned to find squashes and pumpkins in the market. It was that quick. And so, it only seemed fitting that I make this soup, one that has graced the fall table of each and every apartment (and now house) I've ever lived. In fact, I'm surprised that I hadn't yet made it for you here, and delighted to share it with you today.